


Target Practice

by MizJoely



Series: Guns N Stethoscopes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Smut, Warstan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Mary do some target practice together. Things heat up. (Plot? What plot?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Target Practice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsteraceaeBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsteraceaeBlue/gifts).



> A flash fiction for asteraceaeblue.

John’s eyes couldn’t possibly get much bigger, Mary thought fondly as she set her gun down on the steel counter and pulled off her protective ear muffs.

“You…you can shoot, you can really shoot,” he stammered as he stared at her.

She smiled and finished removing the protective ear plugs, stripped off her gloves and started cleaning her pistol. “I told you I could shoot.” She’d taken a risk, showing off her skills like that, but John had scoffed that a gently-reared nurse (army dad or no army dad) couldn’t possibly be a better shot than he was – and just like that, they’d ended up at a shooting range belonging to a mate of his, former military of course, who’d been happy to let them shoot up a few targets after hours. John had saved his life, and he was also happy to look the other way when the good doctor brought his own weapon along.

He’d been so smug, thinking it gave him an advantage, and Mary had meant to be good and let him win…but old instincts died hard. It was a shame, though; she’d probably damaged his ego a bit too much for him to ever ask her out on a proper date, as she’d been patiently waiting for him to do ever since she’d met him. She’d never read his blog, too busy with her new life to worry about anything like that, so she hadn’t known who he was when he started work at the clinic, but she’d heard two of the other nurses gossiping and had gone so far as to google him. He was so much handsomer when clean-shaven, but the moustache was something he seemed to need, a sort of security blanket since his best mate had committed suicide over a year earlier, and so she vowed _never_ to let on how much she hated it.

Of course now that she’d embarrassed him on the shooting range, chances were she’d never get any closer to him. With a silent sigh, she finished cleaning her pistol, then turned to see how John was doing.

She gasped; John, it appeared, had abandoned his own little metal cubby and was standing in front of hers, arms braced on either side, staring at her intently. How had she not noticed him, sensed him? Had four years of living as ‘Mary Morstan’ taken that much of a toll? Or was it simply that she’d been too lost in her unhappy thoughts to notice her surroundings? 

Sloppy, Mary, she mentally scolded herself, then waited for John to make some cutting remark. She’d endure the silent ride back to her flat that was sure to follow, and try to find some way to make amends – to get them at least back on a friendly footing even if their escalating flirtation was no longer a possi…

“That,” John said, interrupting her thoughts, his hands clenching on the edges of the metal doorframe, “was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Then he took the two steps forward that were all that separated them, pulled her face close to his, and kissed her. Hard.

Mary’s brain shut down, going mercifully silent as she grabbed him back just as desperately as he’d grabbed her, one hand in his ash-blond hair, the other digging into the loose fabric of his grey jumper. He’d backed her up against the shelf holding her (entirely unloaded, safety on) gun and safety equipment, his body pressed tightly against hers. She had one leg wrapped around his thighs before she realized it, but it was awfully hard to think with his tongue down her throat.

She could feel his cock as he ground his pelvis into hers, and she pushed right back, giving as good as she got, knowing her knickers were already soaked and very probably the flowered skirt she was wearing. His jumper was so easy to pull over his head as they both came up for air; his hands were busy with the buttons on her blouse as she yanked his vest over his head, leaving it on his arms and shoulders as she began kissing her way down his chest. She fumbled with his belt a bit, but he was busy with unlatching her bra so that was all right. Their lips met in another urgent kiss as she pushed his trousers and pants down – while he shoved her skirt up around her waist and yanked her knickers aside – so that their privates could finally meet without impediment.

“Oh, God, John,” she gasped as he moved his lips to her throat, sucking hard while his hands busied themselves with her breasts. He pinched her nipples, hard; she retaliated by nipping at his ear and squeezing his cock with one hand. He growled – oh yes, that was definitely a growl! – and lifted her up so she was sitting on the edge of the shelf. He yanked her closer; she wrapped both legs around his waist and wailed as he pressed into her with no further preparation.

Of course, as predicted, she was already so wet and ready for him that she’d needed nothing else. Just the feel of his cock inside her. God, he was big, so much bigger than she’d ever imagined, but that was fine, it was all good, so very very good…She was moaning those very words aloud as he began thrusting into her, his mouth seeking her nipples as he pushed her back so her she was leaning on her elbows, head tilted back and bumping into the paper target with its neat pattern of bullet holes over the heart.

“You,” John gasped as he came up for air again, not once slowing the frantic movements of his hips, “are fucking amazing, you’re brilliant, you know that right? Absolutely…” He kissed her. “…fucking…” He kissed her again, harder. “…brilliant.” He kissed her a third time, reaching down between them to rub his thumb over her clit, and Mary came with a wail they must have been able to hear in Ireland.

He wasn’t that far behind her, roaring out his climax in a fusillade of curses, interspersed with worshipful repetitions of her name and various love words.

The ride home in John’s car, far from being awkward, was instead a peaceful ‘calm after the storm’ half-hour that Mary treasured for the rest of her life.


End file.
